The blue glow from the television screen flickered in the dimly lit living room, reflecting off Fuse Yasushi's half-lidded eyes. He was sprawled on the sofa—or rather, he was enthroned there. His body slouched in ultimate relaxation, legs stretched out, one hand tucked behind his head as a pillow.
Physically, he was in his cozy home. Mentally? He stood on a victory podium, surrounded by thousands of fans screaming his name while showering him with roses.
A wide, satisfied smile carved itself across his face.
Hah, that exam was too easy, he thought, replaying the scenes of disabling Iida and Bakugo. I did it all without breaking a sweat. Perfect energy efficiency. I also showcased my power just right—not too flashy to alert enemies, but dazzling enough to awe allies.
He pictured All Might's jaw dropping in the monitor room.
Now everyone's definitely paying attention. Midoriya, Bakugo, Todoroki… they all know who the real ace of the class is. This will be a solid foundation for my hero career arc! Maybe I should start practicing a signature?
"Stop grinning like a lunatic and turn off the TV if you're not watching it, Fuse."
The voice shattered his daydream like a brick through glass.
Fuse blinked, snapping back to reality. Blocking his view of the TV stood his mother. Arms crossed, apron on, she regarded him with a tired yet amused stare.
"Mom, move," Fuse groaned, trying to peer around her waist. "You're making me miss the good part! It's a crucial scene!"
His mother glanced at the screen, then back at her son with a single raised eyebrow—an expression that questioned his sanity.
"Good part?" she echoed. "You call a detergent ad scrubbing oil stains off a plate the good part?"
Fuse fell silent. He tilted his head, looking at the screen. Sure enough, a housewife was beaming maniacally while holding a sparkling plate.
Detergent ad? Fuse thought, confused. Wasn't I just watching a superhero anime? When did it change? Damn, I was too deep in my own greatness.
But admitting fault wasn't a protagonist trait. "It's interesting…" Fuse muttered, shifting to sit a little straighter. "…to see germs defeated by chemical power. It's a metaphor, Mom. The oil stain is crime, and the detergent is… justice. A form of super strength in the real world."
His mother shook her head, unable to suppress a small smile. "Whatever you say."
Sakura sighed, briefly untying her apron. "Fine, since you're busy philosophizing about detergent, I need help. Can you go to the supermarket? We're almost out of monthly supplies. Your dad will be home late, and I want to cook something special."
Fuse's brow furrowed instantly.
"Shopping?" he protested. "Mom, I just saved the world—I mean, aced a high-level combat simulation. I'm in post-climax recovery mode. And you're sending me grocery shopping? This is so out of character for a superhero arc. Imagine All Might being told to buy onions after defeating a villain."
"All Might still has to eat, Fuse," his mother replied calmly. "And a superhero who doesn't help his mother is a villain in my eyes. So, off you go."
Fuse grumbled softly. But deep down, he was a dutiful son. After all, protagonists who disobeyed their parents usually ended tragically in folklore.
"Fine, fine," Fuse rose from the sofa with deliberately lazy movements. "What do I need to buy? Don't tell me it's the whole store."
"I already made a list. One second." His mother headed to the kitchen, steps light. Moments later she returned with a reusable shopping bag and a neatly handwritten note. She handed them to Fuse.
Fuse took the paper and read it. His eyes widened.
"Soap, bleach, floor cleaner, carrots, potatoes, chicken, onions, milk, eggs…" Fuse muttered, the list continuing downward. "This isn't shopping, this is war logistics."
"Of course it's a lot! You and your father have been eating like monsters lately," his mother said, gently pushing his back toward the door. "Hurry, the sun's almost down. I want to make chicken soup."
"Alright, alright. Stop pushing the hero," Fuse grumbled while slipping on his shoes at the genkan.
He opened the front door, letting the evening breeze hit his face. Before stepping out, he glanced back at his mother, already returning to the kitchen.
"Besides," Fuse whispered to himself with a thin grin. "This is a filler episode. The mandatory breather every main character gets before the next big arc. A moment to build character and emotional depth. Yeah, I can accept that."
With that mindset, Fuse stepped outside. He didn't walk like someone sent on an errand. He strode confidently, one hand in his pocket, shopping bag slung over his shoulder like a cape.
He walked ten minutes to the shopping district. Along the way, he observed his surroundings. On the surface, it was a peaceful town, but as someone who knew the future, Fuse saw potential danger in every alley.
He arrived at the large supermarket; the automatic doors opened with a friendly ding-dong. Fuse grabbed a basket and began his mission.
He didn't just grab items. He selected them.
In the vegetable section, he held two carrots, weighing them, checking their color, even subtly activating a tiny bit of his quirk to "sense" their iron content—of course he was just pretending because he thought it looked cool.
A main character's food must be healthy and nutritious! Fuel quality determines engine performance, he thought as he placed the best carrots in his basket. This meat… subpar. Ah, this one's perfect. Heroes need protein.
He moved through the aisles like a strategist gathering resources. Each item crossed off the list brought its own satisfaction.
After paying at the register—and declining the loyalty card because "heroes aren't bound by worldly point systems"—Fuse walked out.
A soft hiss sounded as he opened a cold soda can from the vending machine outside.
He took a sip, the sweet carbonated liquid burning pleasantly down his throat.
"Ahh…" he sighed in satisfaction. "Victory drink. A fitting reward for today's class performance."
He walked home leisurely, enjoying the transition from evening to night. Streetlights flickered on one by one, illuminating the sidewalk. He reached a crosswalk. The pedestrian light was red, forcing him to stop.
Beside him stood two middle-aged women with similar shopping bags. They spoke in low voices, loud enough for Fuse's ears to catch.
"…So tragic, isn't it?" said the first woman, shaking her head sympathetically.
"Yes, absolutely horrifying," replied the second. "I heard only the father was unharmed, while his wife and little child… in comas at the hospital. Haven't woken up for three days."
Fuse's ears twitched. Coma?
"He's a good man," the first woman continued. "Always polite, greets neighbors, always neat and tidy. A real gentleman. But when I saw him yesterday coming home for fresh clothes… my God, he looked wrecked. Empty eyes, wrinkled shirt—like his soul had been stolen."
"Terrifying," the second woman shuddered. "How can there be a thief with a quirk like that? Breaks in without damaging doors, then puts people into deep sleep just by touching them? So dangerous."
"I heard he didn't take much money—just small jewelry. Seems he enjoys the thrill of knocking people out. I hope the heroes catch him soon. Police say his trail is hard to follow."
Hah?
Fuse's relaxed mind sharpened instantly. He took another sip of soda, but it tasted flat now.
A thief who can put people into comas with a touch? he analyzed. That's not a standard burglar quirk. That's highly specific… and malicious. And targeting ordinary families?
He pictured the scenario. A father coming home from work, finding his wife and child collapsed—breathing but lifeless, valuables gone, security shattered. The father's psychological torment must be immense.
Interesting… in a bad way, Fuse thought, eyes narrowing at the still-red light. That power is dangerous. Extremely dangerous if left unchecked. If he touches someone important… or a hero…
His hand tightened on the soda can, denting the aluminum.
I'd love to track that guy down and throw him in jail. Or give him a little "lesson" with rebar. But… I don't have a license yet. For now, I can only hope the pro heroes do their job properly. Don't disappoint me.
The pedestrian light turned green, displaying the stiff walking figure.
Fuse exhaled long, then stepped forward, resuming his walk home. His pace slightly quicker than before.
"I'm home!" he called as he opened the door.
He kicked off his shoes and headed to the kitchen. The rich aroma of chicken broth, ginger, and garlic greeted him, easing some of the tension from the crosswalk.
His mother stood at the stove, stirring a large steaming pot.
"Whoa, smells amazing!" Fuse commented, setting the heavy shopping bag on the counter. "Are we really getting legendary chicken soup today?"
"Yes," his mother answered without turning, tasting the broth with a wooden spoon. "Your dad called—he's exhausted, lots of office trouble today. I thought warm soup might lift his spirits and help him recover."
She turned, smiling at Fuse. "Everything there? You didn't swap change for chocolate, right?"
"Of course! All complete per the list," Fuse said proudly, unpacking the items. "I searched everywhere! I even had to fight an old lady for the best chicken. But don't worry—I won elegantly."
"Good, thank you, Hero," his mother said, starting to chop the fresh vegetables.
Fuse didn't leave immediately. He leaned against the counter, opening a second soda. The rhythmic thunk-thunk of knife on cutting board filled the kitchen silence.
"Mom," Fuse suddenly called, voice slightly more serious than usual.
"Hmm?"
"On the way… I overheard there's a thief prowling the next district," Fuse said. He tried to sound casual, like small talk, but his eyes watched his mother's back intently. "Some ladies at the crosswalk said he can put people into comas just by touching them. Breaks into homes."
His mother's chopping paused briefly, then resumed slower.
"Really? That's terrifying," she murmured.
"Yeah," Fuse continued. "So… be careful. Lock the doors if Dad's not home yet. Don't open for strangers, even if they look like delivery guys."
Sakura stopped cutting. She set down the knife, turned, and looked at her son. She saw genuine worry behind Fuse's usually playful arrogant red eyes.
She smiled—a warm, reassuring smile.
"Don't worry, Fuse," she said softly. "Why would I be scared? We have a future superhero right here, don't we? In this house?"
Those simple words hit Fuse hard. His chest warmed instantly—a pride different from stranger praise. This was personal. Deeper.
Fuse straightened, his signature smile returning, this time more genuine.
"Yeah! Of course!" he declared, raising a fist. "I'll protect you guys! I'll kick that guy's ass to the moon if he steps one inch into our yard! He'll regret being born in the same era as me!"
His mother laughed brightly. "That's my boy. Now go shower or change. Soup will be ready soon."
Fuse nodded. He left the kitchen feeling much lighter, yet with renewed resolve. He headed to the living room, turned on the TV, and picked a classic action movie. While waiting for it to start, he sipped his soda.
His thoughts returned to the thief rumor.
He closed his eyes, extending his senses. He could feel the metal structures in the house. Sofa frame, lamp post, spoons on the table, even nails in the walls.
He focused.
Zzzzt.
All the metal vibrated faintly, humming at the same frequency.
I need to get stronger, he thought. He twitched a finger. The empty soda can on the table spun on its axis untouched, then slowly crumpled into a dense aluminum ball.
Fuse opened his eyes and smiled at the small metal sphere.
"Training begins."
…
A/N: This chapter may be short, but please enjoy it. Not much to say… but as Fuse put it, slice-of-life moments are for resting after hard work. This chapter is for that. And as usual, I write much faster on my Patreon—feel free to check it out if you're too impatient for updates! (There are already 3 chapters posted after this one!)
You can see the next chapter sooner on my patreon whose link is below:
https://www.pâtreon.com/Junxt
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